


One Fear

by bearcantwrite



Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Comfort, Flashbacks, Fluff, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Panic Attacks, Past Abuse, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-08
Updated: 2018-08-08
Packaged: 2019-06-23 15:32:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15609399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bearcantwrite/pseuds/bearcantwrite
Summary: Jack Kelly isn't scared of anything. Well... maybe one thing; moths. Well... maybe two things....





	One Fear

**Author's Note:**

> "the title is a meme" i know sHUT IT  
> but really this is important: i really hope i don't offend anyone with the "PTSD" tag. i've had this headcanon for months now, i've researched PTSD, i am very close to people with PTSD, hell we talked about the chance that i may have PTSD. i base jack's fears off my fears from my own issues. i try to keep it as tame and realistic as i can. if you find that writing about PTSD is offensive, or that this portrays yours in a "bad" way, i'm sorry. everyone's is different, so i try to stay close to my own roots.  
> if i include mental illness in my story, i research up to the third google page about the illness, talk to people with the illness, try to base it off my own roots if i have the illness, and write it as maturely as i can. it's in no way "venting" through writing or "self-inserting". i'm just trying to be resourceful.  
> with that lighthearted note, enjoy.

If there’s one thing Jack Kelly will admit he’s afraid of, besides moths, it would be Snyder. Jack is fifteen when he’s first sentenced to the Refuge for loitering and vagrancy. He isn’t scared. _Okay,_ he thinks. _I’ll just be in a crappy room for a few months, and everything will be okay, right?_

However, as one could guess, it isn’t like that at all.

Jack is tossed into the cell by Snyder himself, and he makes the mortifying mistake of sneering under his breath, _You don’t scare me._ Three other teens are in there with him; two boys and a girl. The three of them share scared glances between each other, Snyder, Jack.

Snyder seems to be used to that response. He only snickers with an evil gleam in his eye and says, _I’ll give you a reason to be._

What happens next, Jack doesn’t remember much. Trying to escape Snyder’s blunt, merciless fists, only to receive even worse hits. Jack trying to call out to the other kids for help, but they simply turn away — Jack can tell they’re afraid, too. Jack staring at the wall once Snyder leaves, not even considering to move to try and feel less pain than the already throbbing hurt coursing through his veins like the blood that shone from his busted lip.

It lasts for maybe a day or so. Jack still doesn’t move. The teens try to tap his shoulder or offer him a space in their bed, but it sends Jack wildly over the edge again. Only a week later does Jack snap back to his senses and slip a guard’s keys from his pocket. He unlocks the door, and bolts. He remembers yelling, guards chasing him, adrenaline pumping through his legs, and finally turning a corner and busting into a building. He lets out a breath he was unaware of holding — he’s lost them. It’s also how he met Miss Medda Larkin.

A year and a half later, Jack is sentenced again. Six months. He tries to plead his case this time. _The boys are starvin’,_ he attempts to keep his voice steady. _They’re going to bed every night shivering their legs off. One of ‘em almost collapsed while selling today. They ain’t paid enough to eat._ Of course, they don’t listen. The minute Jack hears the words, _Mr. Snyder,_ Jack breaks. He tries to run out of the room, but two bulls hold him in place. He struggles and resists all he wants, but the glint in Snyder’s eyes shows that he’s been waiting for Jack to return. Jack loses his breath again. Tears start to stream from his eyes. Jack knows there’s nothing he can do.

Only this time, Jack is saved. On the third day, he hears tapping at the window and nearly leaps from his skin. Who’s hanging around at the fire escape but Racetrack Higgins. _Get outta here,_ he tells Race. _They’ll throw you in too._

_I don’t care,_ Race says. _The guys are crappin’ themselves without you._

It takes maybe ten minutes of convincing, but Jack gives in and allows Race to help hoist him through the window. On looking down, Jack sees Specs, Romeo on Elmer’s shoulders, and even Henry. However, the joy doesn’t last long. Jack can hear footsteps approach the cell, and he tells Race to book it. The six of them have never taken off faster when they hear Snyder shout Jack’s name. They manage to outrun the bulls as the six of them pile into the lodging house, but Jack still has the same lingering fear pounding in his heart.

~ • ~

The newsies are saying goodnight to one another. One by one, the candles blow out, and Jack lays down with a soft blow of his candle. Crutchie somehow convinced him to sleep inside — because of the cooler temperature. Jack’s eyes start to droop closed…

“Did you hear Snyder busted outta jail?”

“You serious?”

Jack’s heart leaps into his throat. He stays deathly still, but tunes into every word between the two unidentified newsies. _No. This has gotta be a gag. They’re just tryna mess with me._

“Yeah. I thought he’d be locked up for good.”

“Where’d you hear about it?”

“Around town while I was sellin’ later today. Bet it’s gonna make front page tomorrow.”

“I just hope Jack doesn’t find out. It’d really freak him out.”

“Can you blame him? Do you _know_ what Snyder’s done to them refuged kids?”

Jack can feel his throat start to close in as he slips out of bed and darts to the fire escape. He feels the sweet — slightly bitter — fresh air fill his lungs as he scrambles to stand and holds onto the railing. Pushing back tears that are filling his eyes, Jack forces a deep breath. Then another. Then another. Until finally, Jack has avoided another sleepless night. Sort of. He looks around on the skyline, and feels a sense of dread. _It sucks being alone up here. Sorta reminds me of when Crutchie was…_ Jack lightly thumps himself on the head as he unbuttons his vest and begins to lay down. _Snap outta that, Jack._ He thinks. _What’s worse, sleeping cold under the stars or hearing those two talk for hours?_

Jack’s slept in worse weather, right?

~ • ~

Jack is more disturbed by the morning bell’s ringing than usual. He’s barely slept, perhaps an hour or two before the bells. He sits up and looks left, looks right. He fits his hat on him and is quick to button his vest — he didn’t open his shirt last night — as he runs down the stairs. Their conversation still runs through his mind. _Snyder. Outta jail. Couldn’t be. I’ve gotta get my papers, and fast._

Immediately when Jack’s downstairs with dozens of newsboys getting ready, he’s greeted by Crutchie. “Jack?” The blond boy smiles, but anyone can tell he’s confused. “Where were ya? I thought you were sleeping inside.”

“I did.”

“Well, it looks to me you didn’t sleep at all.” Crutchie reaches Jack’s hand, but frowns suddenly. “Jack, you’re real cold.”

“Yeah. I know.”

“Jack,” Crutchie laughs. “You’re gonna catch your death. I told you to sleep inside.” He wraps an arm around Jack. Jack, however, doesn’t respond well and backs away. “Hey,” Crutchie whines. “What’s up with you? Do you feel sick?”

“What’s going on?” Davey’s joining in now.

“Jack didn’t sleep and he’s freezing. He’s not… himself.”

“Jack,” Davey’s brow furrows. “What’s going on?”

“Can’t talk.” Jack shakes his head and nudges past them. “I gotta get ready.”

“Jack,” says Crutchie. “The circulation bell doesn’t ring for another—” he’s already gone.

“Do you know what’s up?” asks Davey.

Crutchie shrugs. “I know ‘bout as much as you do.”

Fast forward maybe a half hour, Wiesel’s at the distribution window. He barely has to shout for the newsies to line up until Jack slams down his coin and barely mumbles, “Gimme the usual.”

There’s a strange… atmosphere amongst the newsies. If Jack is off, everyone is off. It’s more quiet — still talkative, but still quiet. Even Oscar is a little confused when he hands Jack the papers. “What happened with you?” He muttered. “Why’ssit so quiet? Did someone die or something?” Morris punches him in the arm, and Jack takes his papers to go sit down.

Jack sits on his usual spot on the wagon and takes a paper from the stack. Sure enough, the front page says it all.

**URGENT: Wanted Criminal Snyder On The Run**

Jack nearly drops the paper. He looks up to the headline on the board. No wonder everyone’s so quiet. _No._

_“Formerly the owner of the now shut-down Refuge, Agustus Snyder was recently found not rotting in his cell, but rather absent from his cell at all. Police will be scattered throughout New York City. If you see a man fitting the description, contact the authorities ASAP.”_

Jack’s still in denial. _Maybe it’s a different Snyder._ He knows it isn’t true — despite how much he wants it to be — but he continues reading.

_“Description; male, estimated 42 years old, six-foot-one, brown eyes, overweight, minimal facial hair, typically darker clothes.”_

Jack can barely read at this point. He’s unsure whether it’s the tears in his eyes or the paper trembling in his hand, but he continues on.

_“Recent reports from the police say he busted out early yesterday morning. “We’re unsure how he got out,” says an officer. “Or where he is. We’ve got police all over New York searching, but our best estimate is he’s in lower Manhattan”—”_

“Jack.”

Jack jumps when he hears someone say his name. Race is talking to him, he realizes.

“Jack, buddy, you good? Look at me.”

Jack comes to realize that… a lot of newsies are looking at him. More exchanging sorry glances between him and the paper. Even the Delanceys look a little tense.

“Jackaboy,” Race has his hands on Jack’s shoulders in an attempt to ground him. “Come back to me. Look at me, I’ve gotcha.” Jack barely meets Race’s blue eyes before he stands up and wipes away the tears from his own. “Jack, you okay?” Race asks again.

“I’m good.”

“You ain’t “good”, you were freaking out like no one was watching. Is it the—”

“It’s not the headline.” Jack cuts him off. “T-That stupid spider don’t scare me.”

“That’s a lie, and the three of us know that.” Crutchie hobbles in. “Jackie, you don’t gotta hide it. I-I know it’s scary, but—”

The bell rings, signaling for the newsies to get to work. “Get goin’, guys.” Jack pats Race on the shoulder and leaves a kiss on Crutchie’s cheek before he takes off.

The whole selling day is torturously slow. “Extra! Extra!” Various newsies would shout. “Snyder On The Run! Hot off the press! You heard the story right here!” Jack has to force his voice not to crack everytime he shouts the headline. Halfway through the day, Jack comes up with his usual idea to make up a headline. It takes his mind off things for a little while, although he cringes everytime a newsie shouts the… original headline.

~ • ~

Sunup to sundown, Jack is ready to go home and wait for everything to blow over. _It’s a warmer night,_ Jack thinks to himself. _Maybe I’ll sleep outside again tonight._

“‘scuse me,” Jack is stopped by an authoritative voice. A bull. Jack is immediately tense as he turns around. “We’d like to ask you a few questions about the latest news. If you’d just come with us…”

“No.” Jack shakes his head and steps back. _Don’t go with them,_ he tells himself repeatedly. _Don't go. They’re with Snyder. They’ll take you back. They’re gonna arrest you._

“Son,” the officer says. “We just wanna ask you a few questions, since I’m aware you—”

“I-I don’t know nothin’.” Jack’s voice starts to shake. He backs away. His chest is tight.

“We won’t hurt’cha,” replies the officer. “We just wanna know if you know where he is.” Another figure starts to approach them in the dark. Jack starts to panic.

“No.” He says. “No, no, no. I-I know nothin’, I— I don’t even know the guy, I s-swear.”

“You okay?” The officer frowns. “Nothing’s gonna happen to you.” He puts a hand on Jack. “We just want your—”

The minute Jack feels the hand on his back, he can feel everything. The ruthless hits, the pain of those injuries that seemed like they’d never leave, the too-tight grip on his wrists that would signify to Jack he really was in trouble. “ _Gedoffame!_ ” He shouts and jumps away. The officer frowns, confused. It doesn’t stop Jack. Once his knees buckle back into action, he takes off down the streets.

_”Kelly!”_

_The growl of the fifteen year old boy’s last name is something he never, ever wants to hear in his lifetime. Everytime Jack turns a corner, the bulls and Snyder are right on his tail. Jack won’t cry — he won’t let his tears slow him down any. There’s no time to clear a lump in his throat, or collapse against a wall and sob. The only thing Jack can do is run, run like there’s no tomorrow._

_Jack doesn’t want to go back. He won’t go back. He won’t go back to rat-infested, crowded rooms. He won’t go back to the merciless beatings Snyder would give. He won’t go back to begging for someone, please, just anybody to help, only to receive silence. He won’t go back to sleeping confined under a roof without the sky and the stars to keep him company. He won’t go back to walking on eggshells. He won’t go back, or else he’d rather be dead._

_Jack thanks God and above for seeing a staircase around the corner that he bolts up and into a door. He doesn’t hear footsteps behind him. He’s safe._

Jack thanks God and above for seeing the lodging house that he bolts into. He doesn’t hear footsteps behind him. He’s safe. His chest is heaving so hard he may as well have been unconscious, but his racing mind only allows him to collapse to the floor. What little strength he has dissipates as he looks out the windows with frantic glances down one side of the street, then the other. Tears rush down his face like an overflowing sink. Newsies are immediately on his tail.

“Jack!” Newsies shout. “Are you okay? What happened? Who’s after ya? What’s going on?”

Jack can’t handle this kind of attention — especially after the kind he was given earlier. All he can do is look down and pull his hat over his face that’s an ever-darkening red.

“Jack!” Davey is one of the many to come rushing in. He kneels down to face Jack and gently caresses his arm. “Hey, hey hey. What’s up?”

Jack scoots away when he feels a hand on his arm. _Go away,_ he keeps shouting in his mind. _Don’t touch me. Don’t talk to me. Just go away. All of you._ He opens his mouth to say what his mind keeps screaming, but all he can do is lose his breath quicker and tremble harder.

“Outta the way!” Crutchie suddenly parts the sea of newsies with his crutch and hobbles over to Jack. “Go on, give’im space. Go, go!” The newsies are soon dispersed, but still sharing glances as Crutchie sits with the boy in blue. “Jack,” his tone is much more softer. “Jackie, look at me. What happened to you? It’s just me. It’s Crutchie. Breathe — c’mon, Jack.”

“I—” Jack still can’t force his head upwards. _They’re still staring,_ he’s sure of it. _They’re all still there._

“Jack,” Crutchie stands up and holds out his hand, the movement causing Jack to peek from under his hat. “C’mon. You wanna get to the bathrooms?” Jack reaches out his very shaky hand to grab Crutchie’s, in which the shorter boy pulls him up with a soft grunt. Crutchie is tender with touch as he leads Jack to the bathrooms and sits with him against the wall. “Just me,” he says. “You don’t gotta worry ‘bout anyone else coming in. Can I touch ya, Jackie?” A small nod signals Crutchie to gently wipe the tears from his eyes.

Jack knows Crutchie — in his opinion, at least — is a symbol for everything wonderful in life. Twinkling eyes, blonde hair, an optimistic view yet an attitude, a charming smile, kisses so light one would barely know it’s there. Crutchie is plain _perfect._ Jack’s green eyes wander up to Crutchie’s soft, cinnamon brown eyes and their gaze locks. Even if Crutchie isn’t good with words sometimes, his eyes say it all; _I’m not gonna hurt you. No one’s gonna hurt you. I’ve got you, and that’s all that matters. You’re safe with me. Everything’s gonna be okay._ And that alone is enough to slow Jack’s rapid heartbeat, to have him gain some control of his breathing.

Crutchie smiles, and Jack is furthermore soothed. “That’s it,” Crutchie says. “You got it, Jackaboy. It ain’t so bad, huh?” He presses his lips to Jack’s forehead while still running his thumbs against his cheekbones.

It takes a while before Jack’s heart beats at a (slightly) normal pace again, but when it does, Crutchie is still there kissing him and petting him. Crutchie soon has the okay to wrap his arms around Jack with no immediate plans of letting go. “You wanna tell me what happened?” asks the blond boy.

“Bulls.” Jack sniffles, his voice still weak. “They wanted to ask me ‘bout Snyder. Thought they was workin’ with him. They would’ve taken me away. So I panicked ‘n ran. It was dark out.”

Crutchie hugs him tighter. “Ain’t no bulls gonna get’cha, honey,” he drops a sweet name that makes Jack squirm slightly in embarrassment. “Not while I’m here. I’d kick their asses anyday if they tried gettin’ you.”

Jack stifles a grin. “I know you would.”

“It’s gonna work out, Jackie.” Crutchie lets their lips touch for a short, sweet second. “I know it is. Knowin’ them bulls, Snyder ain’t gonna last a week out there. And I _know_ they ain’t gonna let him take any kids.”

“I know.”

“I’ve got’cha.” Crutchie continues. “We all got’cha. We’s a family, remember? Families are supposed to look out for each other.” Jack nods. “It’s gonna be alright, Jack. You’ll see.”

Jack bites his lip and embraces Crutchie tighter. “I got it.” He murmurs. “I love you.”

“I love you more.”

“That ain’t possible.”

“Don’t start with me… and Jack?”

“What?”

“You’re sleeping inside tonight. And this time I ain’t letting you get outta that so easy.”

Jack snickers and pats Crutchie’s cheek. “Fine by me.”

“Good.”


End file.
